A decade ago, I was a young journalist working at a nightlife magazine, hanging out in some of the most infamous London gay bars and clubs. One place that stands out, though, was The Glory, an East London pub notorious for its outrageous antics and drag shows.
The Glory wasn't just a bar; it was a way of life. It offered an alternative to the more mainstream, muscled-up world of clubbing in London. Where else could you find underground drag contests like Lipsync1000 or watch your favorite queens get their stage time at the same place? I remember the night they went all out and covered the entire pub in gold foil – it was a sight to behold.
The Glory had its share of characters, some more colourful than others. There were those who stood out for their outrageous outfits, but just as often you'd meet someone who seemed harmless enough – until you got to know them better. In an East London queer scene that's notoriously competitive and well-connected, it's easy to spot a manipulator from a mile off.
But amidst all the chaos and unapologetic weirdness, The Glory was about community. It welcomed people of all stripes, straight and gay alike, who came together over drinks and good-natured teasing. And yes, there were those who pushed the boundaries of fashion sense – but hey, with lovely shoes on your feet, anything went.
The Glory taught me a valuable lesson that has stuck with me to this day: life is too short for shock value. What happens behind closed doors after midnight can be wild and wonderful, but it's nothing compared to the trials and tribulations we all face in our everyday lives. And in these trying times, being unflappable and accepting – particularly when it comes to people who don't fit the norm – is more essential than ever.
Looking back on my time at The Glory, I'm reminded of a decade that was as madcap as it was meaningful. It may be gone now, but its spirit lives on in me – a testament to the power of embracing our weirdness and loving everyone for who they are.
The Glory wasn't just a bar; it was a way of life. It offered an alternative to the more mainstream, muscled-up world of clubbing in London. Where else could you find underground drag contests like Lipsync1000 or watch your favorite queens get their stage time at the same place? I remember the night they went all out and covered the entire pub in gold foil – it was a sight to behold.
The Glory had its share of characters, some more colourful than others. There were those who stood out for their outrageous outfits, but just as often you'd meet someone who seemed harmless enough – until you got to know them better. In an East London queer scene that's notoriously competitive and well-connected, it's easy to spot a manipulator from a mile off.
But amidst all the chaos and unapologetic weirdness, The Glory was about community. It welcomed people of all stripes, straight and gay alike, who came together over drinks and good-natured teasing. And yes, there were those who pushed the boundaries of fashion sense – but hey, with lovely shoes on your feet, anything went.
The Glory taught me a valuable lesson that has stuck with me to this day: life is too short for shock value. What happens behind closed doors after midnight can be wild and wonderful, but it's nothing compared to the trials and tribulations we all face in our everyday lives. And in these trying times, being unflappable and accepting – particularly when it comes to people who don't fit the norm – is more essential than ever.
Looking back on my time at The Glory, I'm reminded of a decade that was as madcap as it was meaningful. It may be gone now, but its spirit lives on in me – a testament to the power of embracing our weirdness and loving everyone for who they are.